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The air coming through his open bedroom window has the indicative bite of winter’s dreaded arrival. While he was hoping to get a bit more use out of his leather jacket, he’d be a fool to try and brave Maine winters without his obnoxious (but warm) winter coat. Killian notices the lace-like pattern frost has woven along the window sill and lets out a hearty sigh. He rolls out of bed reluctantly and instantly feels the chill as his bare feet hit the hardwood floor. Shivering, a war rages in his head, back to bed or find the coat. Another gust of cold winter air whips through the open window, he hastily shuts it, and he swears the room warms up at least five degrees immediately. Killian turns to the rarely used storage closet in the back of his room, groaning loudly, as he’s almost certain the entirety of its contents will fall as soon as he opens the door. It’s not that he’s hiding from anything, it’s just sort of become his collection closet for things he’ll “deal with later” but never actually does. He adjusts the thermostat and throws on his wool socks before deciding this Saturday is as good as any to finally tackle the dreaded closet.
. . .
One and a half hours later and he’s finally found his jacket under a pile of other winter gloves, hats, and mittens that he hasn’t seen since March. He pauses when he realizes it’s thrown over a bin he doesn’t recognize. Killian drags the bin over by his bed and his knees buckle when he lifts the cover off. Her smell fills the room as memories flood his mind.
Killliiannn, I need somewhere to store this summer stuff.
Just put it in the storage closet, love, that’s where I throw my off-season stuff.
She left a few short weeks after that, saying she had a job offer in Boston she couldn’t refuse. She assured him it had nothing to do with their shared kiss at the town harvest festival and that he shouldnt uproot his life because of her.
She had no idea that she was his life.
Scratch that— is his life.
Bloody hell.
He wished she had realized his life was promptly “uprooted” the moment she wasn’t a daily fixture in it. At first she called, texted, and FaceTimed him on a semi-regular basis but their schedules were no-longer synced and her life kept getting busier while life in Storybrooke was simple as ever. Slowly her absence became a new normal but even a year later he just feels like he’s going through the motions without purpose.
He’s thought about calling her more than once but couldn’t imagine what he’d say short of begging her to come home. He’d go see her if he had an address but she’s never been one for permanence.
If only his dumbass had remembered that before he fell head over heels in love with her.
He realizes he’s clutching her old sleep tee shirt she used to wear pretty much every night. She was always fascinated with the concept of a Neverland, a place of hope and trust and magic, so he bought her an oversized sleep shirt covered in Peter Pan regalia in hopes her dreams would take her far better places than her life had. She teared up when he gave it to her, J.M. Barrie’s stories apparently meaning more to her than he realized, and then she wore it to bed every night without fail. He liked to think it was because she felt safe in it… with him.
He smiles at the thought and decides to shoot her a text now that he finally has a coherent topic of conversation.
Hello, Swan. Hope all is well. Looking for my winter jacket, I found your summer clothes. I can send them to you or donate them? Let me know, love.
He types an “I miss you” at the end but deletes it quickly, hoping the simplicity of his message will warrant a response. He’s surprised when she answers right away.
Killian! Hi! I knew I left that somewhere… it doesn’t happen to have my old running sneakers in there too? If you don’t mind sending it, that’d be great. I can pay you back for the shipping or whatever. I hope you’re doing well, too.
It’s more chipper than Killian expected and that’s probably what prompts him to pick up the phone and actually call her.
Hello?
Hi, love. Forgive me but I don’t seem to have your address.
Killian.
He swears she whispers it, almost as if she’s telling a secret to herself and he does everything in his power to record it to memory. She hasn’t said anything else so he responds.
Yes, Swan?
Oh, I’m sorry. Address, right yeah, do you have somewhere to write it down?
Shit, hold on.
Killian scrambles to find any piece of scratch paper he can as fast as he can. He dreads the thought of returning to the line and finding she’s given up on him again.
Hello?
Yes, Killian, I’m still here. He can practically hear her eye roll. I’m not that impatient.
My memory must betray me then. He hears her huff on the other side of the line and they easily fall back into the comfortable banter he’s missed since the day she said goodbye— or rather didn’t say goodbye. She had told him she was leaving obviously, but he didn’t expect it to be that night.
She just… left. His eyes water at the thought but he chokes it back.
Ready when you are, Swan.
710 Nautica Drive, Apartment #815, Boston, Massachusetts 02108
Got it, love. Thank you.
Of course! I mean, thank you .
Don’t mention it. I’ll—
They start to speak at the same time.
How is everyone? He hears nonchalance in her voice but can tell it’s forced. If he wasn’t positive his heart was playing tricks on him, he’d say she almost sounded homesick.
Everything’s right as rain here, Swan. You know nothing much changes around Storybrooke. They did get a new bar though! Aesop’s Tables but the “t” is always burnt out so everyone calls it “Aesop’s Ables”. It just sounds like bloody horrible alliteration but I suppose it’s free marketing for the guy.
He hears her chuckle on the other end, but it seems sad— or nostalgic— although he’s not entirely sure there’s a difference.
Sounds same old same to me, Jones.
How are you, Swan? How’s the job?
I actually have to go, Killian. He swears he hears her sniffle but chalks it up to shotty reception. Thanks again for sending the clothes. We should— shit I gotta go. Bye, Killian.
She hangs up before Killian can argue. He whispers his goodbye to no one as he hears the line go dead. Rubbing his hands over his face he tries to pinpoint where it all went wrong.
“Win me a prize, Killian.” She’s smiling at him with the brightest eyes and he swears if he died in this moment, he’d return to it for the rest of his life as this is surely what heaven feels like.
“As you wish, Swan.” He’s a good shot, and while the rigged games are good, he’s better. It takes no time at all for him to win her one of the big prizes. “What in bloody damnation are you going to do with a huge ass bear, Swan?”
She chuckles at his teasing but proudly carries her bear through the fair, until it gets too heavy and Killian ends up carrying it on his back like an oversized child. Her eyes light up when she sees the short line at the ferris wheel and she grabs his free hand, urgently dragging him towards the ride.
The operator reluctantly allows Henry (she named the damn thing) to ride with them so when they get into the seat, Killian and Emma are squished as close as humanly possible.
As they reach the top, she looks at him, “I want to feel this way forever.” He’s stunned by declaration, Emma not being one for emotions of any shape or size.
“Then that’s what shall be.” She rolls her eyes at his ‘fancy british speak’ and then makes eye contact again.
“You can not possibly guarantee that.” Their faces are close, a hazard of their stuffed friend riding along.
“Your heart’s desire, Swan, that’s all I want.” Her eyes soften and then flicker down to his lips. She leans in, softly pressing her lips against his. If Killian didn’t know that they were on a ferris wheel, he would’ve sworn he was flying. She doesn’t say anything after that but cuddles close into him until they arrive at the bottom. They hold hands for the rest of the night and it feels like the entire world has shifted on its axis.
Two weeks later the world shifts again, leaving Killian feeling like he’s stuck in the aftermath of a category five earthquake.
It hits Killian like a tidal wave, sudden realization washing over him. All this time he thought letting her go was the best decision, giving her space and time to come home, but he knows now he should’ve ran after her.
He refuses to be another crack in her heart— another love who up and left. While he didn’t technically leave, he let her go, and he’s not sure what’s worse. In hindsight, he should’ve fought for her, but all he has is the present, and he’s going to make things right.
Scrambling for his phone he plugs in the address she gave him.
2 hours. He grabs the bin and his car keys.
He throws on his winter jacket to return her summer clothes.
. . .
Killian is sure the two hours spent in his car are the longest two hours of his life. He pulls up in front of her apartment and lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. It’s not luxurious by any means, but it’s nice and he’s grateful she’s been safe in her time here. He drags the bin out of his backseat and walks to the front door of the building. He scans the buzzer for apartment 815 and finds it with the name Swan scrawled messily beside it. He presses it and the door opens without so much as a word from the other line— so much for safe. If this were normal circumstances, he’d scold her for just letting anyone in her building, but he’ll deal with that later.
He jumps in the elevator to the 8th floor and books it down the hall so quickly that he’s out of breath by the time he reaches her door. The adrenaline pumping through him right now is the only thing that gives him enough energy to knock. When she opens the door, clearly stunned, Killian feels like the air is knocked out of him again.
“Killian?! What are you doing here? Is everything alright?”
“Swan, I’m a damn fool and I’m sorry this took me so bloody long.” He drops the bin to the side and closes the space between them. Her eyes soften, the worry instantly evaporating the moment he rubs his thumb over her cheek.
“You came back?” She hesitates, almost as though she’s expecting to wake up from her daydream at any moment.
He knows the feeling… perfectly.
“Well, I had to get you your bin and shipping would’ve been outrage—“
Emma cuts him off with a kiss. It’s messy, the antithesis of their first, yet behind the desperation he feels an overwhelming sense of peace.
“I missed you, Killian Jones.”
“There’s not a day that went by that I did not think of you. I apologize for taking so long.”
“Yeah, I had to buy a whole new summer wardrobe because of that damn closet of yours.” She’s smiling now, that same smile she held when she begged him to win her a prize.
“Aye, love, a true tragedy.” He smiles at her and hopes his eyes can convey everything she’s not ready to hear out loud. “Are you going to let me in or should I just leave the bin out here?” He winks, knowing an eye roll is inevitable.
. . .
He’s invited in, and he stays… for three more days. And as they leave to turn her key into the landlord she runs back inside apologizing for forgetting something.
When she rounds the corner again she’s clutching a giant teddy bear and beaming with the brightest smile he’s seen in years.
“Do you mind carrying Henry?” She kisses him on the cheek and then gently on his lips, a bribe he’s positive will never get old.
“Your heart’s desire, Swan, that’s all I want.”